again." But what shall purify the character of our house," returned the pious matron, "that my son has for ever sullied. A house that was prior to the flood, and was intimately acquainted with the patriarchs. A house that" The little fat bailiff here interrupted her expostulations, and, with a face of reverential purity, adjusted his wig, and informed the disconsolate mother, that one consolation was still left-that her son would be damned for ever. "Why to be sure there is some consolation in that," whimpered the good old lady, and dried her tears, consoling herself in the meanwhile with the pleasant probability of her son's damnation.

By this time the story had got wind, and a report was circulated through the town, that Brenno had made a compact with the Devil; that the virtue of his mother had exposed the fraud; and that Apollyon, accompanied by a cloud of sulphur and brimstone, was seen to fly away, with a torch in one hand and his tail in the other.

Worn down with anxiety, and fearful of the superstition of his countrymen, the unfortunate lover returned in a state of agony to his hermitage. Here he passed his hours of solitude, in fruitless lamentations for the fairy he had lost, and regret for his shameless duplicity. His only pleasure seemed to consist in wandering by the banks of the Swan's Pool, and in recalling the remembrance of the past. He thought of the beautiful Zoe, fond and gentle as he first knew her, and dwelt with agony on her soft smiles, her infantine simplicity. He was roaming one evening by the side of his favourite streamlet, when a light step passed beside him. He turned round to discover the intruder, and beheld the fair form of Zoe, the object of his thoughts by day, his dreams by night. "You are surprised," she exclaimed, " at my return, but listen to my reasons. I have wandered to other climes; I have seen my dearest friends drop day by day into the grave, and life grow desolate and

forlorn. On returning to the home of my infancy, I found my mother dead, my father sinking into the tomb. Friends-relations, that I left smiling in health and happiness, were all-all gone; and I stood among my native hills, as a stranger in a foreign land. In the hour of my solitude my thoughts reverted to you, with whom I had spent many of the happiest hours of my existence. I thought of your fondness, your regard to feminine delicacy, and I resolved to return to you for ever. you accept my offer, love ?"

Do

"Sweetest, sweetest girl," passionately replied Brenno, "I am thine, for ever thine. My love, my virgin bride, we will henceforth live solely for each other, devoting each thought and each moment to delight." "Thus, then, I seal our union," resumed Zoe, tearing in a thousand pieces the magic web of immortality. "I shall not need eternal beauty while your affection lasts. To you I shall ever be beautiful; and when age obscures the fair front of youth, the mind of the lover will continue the delusion. Here, then, where we first met, we will for ever live; and the wood that once echoed the syren song of love, shall still reply to our bridal felicity. We will wander hand in hand through a world which affection shall strew with roses; and when Brenno sinks into the tomb, Zoe will not remain long behind. Why should I covet immortality, when he is gone for whom I desired it? Is there a pleasure in sitting by the side of the grave of a beloved object, and feeling that all we once held dear is flown-never to return? No! my love-thy bride shall never survive the fate that shall bow thee to the earth, but wither like a flowret on its stem when thou hast ceased to be. In the quiet grave we will repose together, and, locked in each other's arms, await the period of a more glorious resurrection."

She ceased, and the heart of Brenno was happy. They lived long and tranquilly together; and the beautiful Zoe

"The spectre sleeps in its earthy bed "Till St. Edmond's eve hath toll'd.

* Yet rest your weary limbs to-night, "You've journey'd many a mile; "To-morrow lay the wailing sprite, "That shrieks in the moon-light aisle."

"Oh! faint are my limbs, and my bosom cold!

"Yet to-night must the sprite be laid ;"Yet to-night when the hour of horror's toll'd,

"Must I meet the wandering shade!

" Nor food, nor rest, can now delay,
"For, hark! the echoing pile
* A bell loud shakes! Oh! haste away,
"Oh! lead to the haunted aisle."

The torches slowly move before,
The cross is rear'd on high;
A smile of peace the canon wore,
But horror fix'd his eye.

And now they climb the foot-worn stair,
The chapel gates unclose;

Now each breathed low a fervent prayer,
And fear each bosom froze.

Now paused awhile the doubtful band,
And view'd the solemn scene;
Full dark the cluster'd columns stand,
The moon gleams bright between.

"Say, father, say, what cloister's gloom
Conceals the unquiet shade?
Within what dark unhallow'd tomb
The corse unbless'd was laid?"-

Through you drear aisle alone it walks,
And murmurs a mournful plaint;
Of thee, Black Canon, it wildly talks,
And calls on thy patron saint.

The pilgrim this night, with wondering eyes,
When he prays at St. Edmond's shrine,
From a black-marble tomb hath seen it rise,
And under yon arch recline."

"Oh! say, upon that black-marble tomb What memorial sad appears?" "Undistinguish'd it lies in the chancel's gloom,

No memorial sad it bears!"

The Canon his pater-noster reads
His rosary hung by his side;

"Oh! enter, Black Canon!" a whisper fell, "Oh! enter! thy hour is come!"The sounds irresistless his steps impel To approach the marble tomb.;;

He paused-told his beads and the threshhold pass'd

Oh, horror! the chancel doors close ;A loud yell was borne on the howling blast, And a deep dying groan arose.

The monks in amazement shuddering stand, They burst through the chancel's gloom! From St. Edmond's shrine, lo! a wither'd hand

Points to the black-marble tomb.

Hark! a loud peal of thunder shakes the roof,

Round the altar bright lightnings play, Speechless with horror the monks stand aloof

And the storm dies sudden away!

The inscription was gone.--A cross on the

"WILT thou for ever sleep? Wilt thou never more awake, my beloved, but henceforth repose for ever from thy short pilgrimage on earth? O yet once again return! and bring back with thee the vivifying dawn of hope to one whose existence hath, since thy departure, been obscured by the dunnest shades. What! dumb? for ever dumb? Thy friend lamenteth, and thou heedest him not? He sheds bitter, scalding tears, and thou reposest unregarding his affliction? He is in despair, and thou no longer openest thy arms to him as an asylum from his grief? Say then, doth the paly shroud become thee better than the bridal veil? Is the chamber of the grave a warmer bed than the couch of love? Is the spectre death more welcome to thy arms than thy enamoured consort? Oh! return, my beloved, return once again to this anxious disconsolate bosom." Such were the la

of eternity, but rather as the sober beams which cheer this nether world, and which, while they enlighten, kindle the sons of earth to joy and love. Brunhilda became the wife of Walter, and both being equally enamoured and devoted, they abandoned themselves to the enjoyment of a passion that rendered them reckless of aught besides, while it lulled them in a fascinating dream. Their sole apprehension was lest aught should awaken them from a delirium which they praved might continue for ever. Yet how vain is the wish that would arrest the decrees of destiny! as well might it seek to divert the circling planets from their eternal course. Short was the duration of this phrenzied passion; not that it gradually decayed and subsided into apathy, but death snatched away his blooming victim, and left Walter to a widowed couch. Impetuous, however, as was his first burst of grief,

for his Brunhilda, the partner of his youthful, passionate love: thus did he bewail over her grave at the midnight hour, what time the spirit that presides in the troublous atmosphere, sends his legions of monsters through mid-air; so that their shadows, as they flit beneath the moon and across the earth, dart as wild, agitating thoughts that chase each other o'er the sinner's bosom:-thus did he lament under the tall linden trees by her grave, while his head reclined on the cold stone.

Walter was a powerful lord in Burgundy, who, in his earliest youth, had been smitten with the charms of the fair Brunhilda, a beauty far surpassing in loveliness all her rivals; for her tresses, dark as the raven face of night, streaming over her shoulders, set off to the utmost advantage the beaming lustre of her slender form, and the rich dye of a cheek whose tint was deep and brilliant as that of the western heaven : her eyes did not resemble those burning orbs whose pale glow gems the vault of night, and whose immeasurable distance fills the soul with deep thoughts

another bride became the partner of the youthful nobleman.

Swanhilda also was beautiful; although nature had formed her charms on a very different model from those of Brunhilda. Her golden locks waved bright as the beams of morn: only when excited by some emotion of her soul did a rosy hue tinge the lily paleness of her cheek: her limbs were proportioned in the nicest symmetry, yet did they not possess that luxuriant fullness of animal life: her eye beamed eloquently, but it was with the milder radiance of a star, tranquillizing to tenderness rather than exciting to warmth. Thus formed, it was not possible that she should steep him in his former delirium, although she rendered happy his waking hours tranquil and serious, yet cheerful, studying in all things her husband's pleasure, she restored order and comfort in his family, where her presence shed a general influence all around. Her mild benevolence tended to restrain the fiery, impetuous disposition of Walter: while at the same time her prudence recalled him in some